Blatherings: I'm so pleased you's guy's liked the bowling and burger thang. I was wacked-out on Belgian chocolate when I wrote it... endorphins are our friends. Many thanks for the reviews... they make me smile real big.

I'm gazing at a huge bouquet of lilacs, that a friend brought me, as I write this. I love lilacs, but they make me melancholy for some reason. I think maybe if memories were a physical thing, they would smell like lilacs.






Otherworld Year Seven: Chapter 3




"Where the hell are they?" Gabe mumbled to himself, rummaging through the store-room shelves, trying to find a stack of blank work-order pads. He knew he had seen them just yesterday. He straightened, and scratched the back of his head, peering around the cluttered room, then sighed.

Auron had been gone less than a week, and already things were becoming a screwed-up-mess. He hadn't realized how much Auron did around here, until he was absent. Him and his bright ideas.

He heard the sound of a door gliding open, from the mezzanine above, and smiled. Maybe that was Auron, and he could borrow him for a few minutes, to help him get this place organized.

Striding quickly through the doorway, Gabe walked to the center of the training floor, and craned his neck, to look above him.

It was Remie, walking toward the stairs, a fuzzy shadow following behind him, the shadow's tail standing straight-up, like a flag. Gabe had to smile at the two of them, they were quite a pair.

Remie had been growing like a weed, the past couple of years, and had finally begun to fill-out a little... his shoulders and chest had broadened, and his arms had started to take on some definition. He was going to be a good-looking man someday, Gabe thought... a real heart-breaker.

Ron had done his fair share of filling-out too. The cat had been completely spoiled since he had arrived here... Sahna shoveling enough food into him, to feed an army. Auron had come up with the name of Ronso for the feisty-feline, which had quickly been shortened to Ron. It had only taken a little longer than that, before the old tom had decided he owned the place, and everybody in it.

"Hey Gabe, how's it going?" Remie asked, as he descended the stairway, noting the exasperated look on Gabe's face.

"Not so good. I can't seem to get a handle on things around here."
Gabe said miserably, walking to the counter, and leaning his arms across it's paper-strewn surface.

"I could help out." Remie offered, suddenly envisioning himself wielding gigantic swords, and slinging guns from his hips, as he scored a perfect bulls-eye at the shooting range, the customers bowing before him, in awed reverence.

"That's a great idea." Gabe exclaimed, with a grin, reaching below the counter and pulling out a giant stack of papers, then shoving them at Remie, the boy's arms coming up to grab them.

"Get all of these filed, then see if you can straighten-out the counter here, then I could use your help in the store-room."

Remie looked down at the stack of paperwork in his arms, then back up at Gabe, his face wrinkling in disappointment. "Thanks a pant-load." He grumbled, turning, and plopping the papers on the counter.

"Hey, how bout a little more pity for an old-man, huh?" Gabe said, his brow furrowing.

"I'm sorry Gabe. I didn't mean... I'll be glad to help." Remie offered, with an apologetic smile, as he began to sort through the papers.

"You're a good kid." Gabe said, wrapping an arm around Remie's neck, and rubbing his hair with his knuckles.

"Knock it off." Remie said, with a laugh, attempting to free himself from Gabe's head-lock.

************

Auron stepped out of the shower, and grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapping it around his waist, then scrubbed his hands back-and-forth rapidly through his wet hair, as he walked to the hall closet. Leaning an arm against its open door, he surveyed the clothes hanging within, deciding on what to wear.

Tough choice, he thought, gazing at his meager wardrobe. There's my robe, or there's my robe. Perhaps he should spend a day doing some clothes shopping. Should have thought of that, before deciding to attend a social function, you scruffy old monk, he told himself, his lips curving in a bitter smile.

Grunting in resignation, Auron dressed, opting for the leather pants, as opposed to his customary gray. They were a little less thread-bare.

************

The evening was pleasantly warm, and there were many people out-and-about in the arts district as a result... couples and small groups meandering the streets, the galleries and shopfronts aglow, beckoning with offered respite from the growing dark.

Auron wound his way among the crowds, scanning the signs posted above the gallery doorways, then slowed his pace, as he spied a small black and white sign, above a glass-fronted space just ahead, that simply read: 'Blackfish.'

He approached the sleek building, then stopped just outside the entrance, looking in through the transparent walls, at the reception attendees, milling about in companionable clusters, wine glasses in hand, as they surveyed Isabo's vernal landscapes, that hung like windows to a view, along the stark-white walls of the gallery.

This had been an extraordinarily bad idea, Auron thought, taking in the scene. He fit in here, about as much as Jecht would fit in, at a ladies tea party.

These elegantly-garbed, cheerfully-animated, attractive people, were an antithesis to him. He was worn, dead and disfigured. He did not belong here. Surely Isabo's invitation, had been nothing more than a courtesy, and he had deluded himself, by thinking otherwise.

Deciding it best, to make a strategic retreat, Auron turned on his boot-heels, and began to retrace his steps, back the way he had come... suddenly feeling more alone, than he could ever remember.

He didn't get far, before he heard a voice calling out softly... "Auron? Is that you?"

Auron stopped, wishing he could simply keep walking, and ignore the voice behind him. Damn him and his precious honor, he thought, as he slowly pivoted, to look behind him.

Isabo stood just outside the doorway, her hair pulled back, wearing a simple black dress, her skin contrasting sharply against its inkiness, and her soft curves effectively accentuated by its cut.

Unwilling to allow himself any closer, Auron stood his ground, replying in a husky whisper... "Yes."

Isabo smiled and walked toward him, her expression changing from one of greeting, to one of concern, as she drew closer... "Are you injured?" She asked, nodding at his left arm, slung inside his robe.

"I am not injured. It is merely a personal eccentricity. One of many." Auron replied, the dry response allowing him to regain some semblance of control, over his thoughts.

Isabo laughed brightly, her eyes shining with good humor. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Auron was unsure how to respond to that, so he just remained silent... his face safely unreadable, behind the fortress of his collar and glasses.

Appearing undaunted by his muteness, Isabo turned to look back toward the gallery for a moment, then returned her gaze to Auron's still countenance.

"I need to go back inside for a moment, will you wait for me?" She asked, her voice betraying a hint of uncertainty now.

"As you wish." Auron replied, unable to bring himself, to deny her guileless petition.

"I'll be right back." She said, with a smile, then hurried back through the door, her long ponytail swaying at her back.

Auron exhaled deeply, and raked one hand through his hair. He had almost made a clean getaway. But he had to admit, that part of him was glad he had failed. Isabo made him feel comfortable, in a way he had not experienced since Braska. That, and her unnerving beauty, made for a disquieting combination, and one that he found himself attracted to. This woman, could very well have the power to completely un-guard him, and that was dangerous. He had not felt threatened in such a manner, for a very long time, and damn if he didn't like it.

Hearing the front door of the gallery being opened, Auron brought his head up, to see Isabo walking quickly toward him, a small bundle of linen cradled in her arms.

"I stole a bottle of wine, and some hors d'oeuvres. Come on, before they catch us." Isabo exclaimed, with a breathless laugh, as she hurried past Auron... moving as fast as she could, in the high-heels she was wearing.

Auron stared, unmoving, at her retreating figure for a moment, then chuckled, and went after her... his long strides, closing on her rapidly.